


always you

by angharad_crewe



Category: Monstrous Regiment - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Denial, Established Relationship, F/F, PWP, Teasing, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 10:10:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2808620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angharad_crewe/pseuds/angharad_crewe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Polly has a cramp. Maladict is here to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	always you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/gifts).



Polly wakes to the press of lips on her shoulder, faint and somewhat ticklish, and is smiling before she fully knows where she is. “Mm?” 

It comes out sounding more like a purr than a proper question; but then perhaps that has something to do with the fingers settling lightly on her hips, the dip of the bed and the addictive smell of all the warm skin nestling down next to her. 

“So,” a familiar voice says in her ear, velvetly amused, “I give up my extra training to come check on you, and you’re _sleeping_?”

“Was just a cramp,” Polly says, the words feeling sticky and slow in the afternoon sunshine. She's hyper-aware of the fingers lingering innocently on her hip, each soft pad whispering against hundreds of tiny starburst nerve-points. “It wasn’t an emergency.”

The fingers move, beginning to trace delicate patterns on her skin. “And you never even told me,” Maladict says, ignoring her protests. “I didn’t know a thing until someone mentioned you were lying down in agony.”

Three minutes ago she was asleep. Now Maladict's fingers press in, firm and sure, and Polly's breath is already catching behind her teeth. “Not agony, just…” She breathes in, little shudder, as Mal's searching fingers find a particularly sensitive spot. “Just a cramp. Over now.”

“Hmph,” Maladict says. Polly doesn’t have to roll over and look to know that the dubiously-pursed scowl she loves to kiss away has made an appearance.

But she doesn’t have any time to think about that scowl, because in the next instant Maladict's fingers have slipped below the waistband of her trousers and tugged them inexorably down, past the swell of her ass, leaving her defenseless amidst the covers.

“Agony, they said,” Maladict repeats, skeptically.

Polly barely hears her. The expert fingers have skated lower, causing her stomach to clench as acutely as the earlier cramp. She muffles a gasp in her arm.

“Was it here?” 

Maladict's voice is concerned, her fingers sure. They rub firm circles into Polly's ass, seeking any sources of pain or knots of nerves. 

“Mmph,” Polly says, into her arm.

Maladict's fingers press slightly lower. “Or here?”

Polly feels her hips canting, all of her entirely awake in the sleep-warmed bedclothes. “ _Mal_.”

“Are you sure it’s not related to an older injury?” Maladict asks, her fingers not stopping in their sweet torture for even a moment. “We can’t be too careful.”

“It was just a cramp,” Polly says, distractedly, gathering her knee under her, ready to roll over and push Maladict back into the grass, to lean down and kiss her silly. “I’m fine.”

The calm smack on her ass stops her in her tracks, and she sucks in a breath. “Stop squirming,” Maladict says, the fingers of her other hand not stopping their search for a moment. 

“I'll be just fine,” Polly manages, after a desperate grind of her hips downward, though she can't find the friction she needs. If only she had a dick, this would be much easier, she thinks darkly. But she doesn't really want one. And Maladict can't be cruel forever – can she?

Maladict hmms through her nose and moves her search to the other side of Polly's ass. Her fingers dig into the underside of the curve, pressing up and in and all around, and then Polly must make some shameless sound, because she stops. “See, I told you, something’s up. We can’t be too careful.”

“Something’s up, all right,” Polly says, _sotto voce_ , and again tries to roll over. 

She's not spanked this time, but Maladict's heavy hand on the small of her back holds her in place. “Keep still. Let me work the knot out.”

“I _can’t_ keep still,” Polly says, too far gone in a few short minutes to play it cool, not here in the coolness of the afternoon with her lover massaging her ass with talented – no, _wicked_ \- fingers.

“You can too,” Maladict says, sternly, and then her hands are sweeping lower, down past the glutes and on the hamstrings, bringing mingled relief and distress with them as they go. “Does this hurt?”

Polly bites her lip to keep from whimpering, wanting her to never stop, wanting her to stop this instant and put those hands other places entirely. One of Maladict's hands begins to work back up Polly's inner thigh, and Polly cants her legs open helplessly, wordlessly urging her on. 

Maladict completely ignores the hint. Of course. She has a fiend for a lover. 

“Please, Mal,” Polly says, beyond hints. “Come on, we won't have long before the troop comes looking for us.” 

Maladict's fingers continue their maddening work. On the plus side, Polly's cramp is gone. On the negative side, she'll explode if something isn't done about the ache between her legs. “And what they'll see is Maladict kindly tending to your cramp, like a good friend.”

“I know where you sleep,” Polly says, darkly.

“With you?”

“With me,” Polly says, and with a single sudden surge of power, flips over. Before Maladict can get out of range, she slings an arm around her back and pulls her down, smiling, against her stomach. “You won't get away that easily, my pretty.”

Maladict kisses her, which is, Polly has to admit, a pretty fine answer.

So too is where Maladict kisses next.

~

“Is your cramp gone?” Maladict asks later, in perfect innocence.

Polly, still regaining her ability to breathe in a passably normal manner, flips her off. 

“Such language,” Maladict says, tutting in a perfect imitation of an uptight innkeeper in the last town. “I'll have you know that I don't hold with such lewd gestures, young lady.”

Polly rolls them over, pinning Maladict down upon the grass. “I'll show you lewd gestures,” she says, and works a hand between them while kissing Maladict silly.

Eventually the troop will come in search of them. If it's before they're finished, though, Polly thinks she can rely on their training. The troop has learned to collect information about the subject at hand – and knows when to beat an intelligent retreat. 

“What are you thinking about?” Mal says, muzzily, her hand petting Polly's hair.

Polly smiles at her, forehead to forehead. She's too close to really focus on Maladict's face, but that doesn't matter. All she sees is beauty. “You,” she says, pressing a kiss to the corner of Maladict's mouth. “Always you.”


End file.
